Molting
by pen237
Summary: My take on Henry's thoughts throughout the game, plus changing the end. Be warned, SH4 has quite mature content. Also, I express stuff about religion, more specifically Jesus. Just thought I should mention it up front.
1. Wormhole

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Silent Hill 4: The Room or any of its characters.

* * *

Closed in by grime and rust, breathing heavily. Darkness grew closer to his mind like a blade's steady press.

Henry was contemplative after having had another of his recurring nightmares, of his apartment becoming oppressive and terrifying.

His heart sunk as he remembered his predicament. Stuck in his apartment for five days, he found reality becoming more and more difficult to discern. Yet in the midst of the madness, he could faintly discern a purpose. Like someone wanted him to know more.

As he wandered around his apartment looking over all his belongings, his findings intensified his dread. There were writings on his wall, notes stuck in different places, and chains on his front door.

After hearing a crash, he went to his bathroom. A huge hole yawned at him next to his sink. Wanting, he imagined, to swallow him whole.

Drawn in, aware he was the prey, Henry entered. There was darkness, and a pale figure that went as soon as it came. Before he could think more on it, he was overcome by a bright light and found himself on a paved floor.

He stood slowly up and looked around him at somewhat familiar surroundings. A subway station. The one near his apartments.

Henry walked forward, sensing that his unease was only the first faint taste of a deep, bitter cup.

* * *

"What…the hell?'

Was what Henry wanted to say as he watched faceless dogs slop their tongues over their bleeding companion.

He found his feet falling forward, his pace nearly a constant run. Even when he nearly shook with desire to sit and collect his thoughts, he was charging forward again. Strength he didn't understand seized him, as he watched his hand fell snarling dogs. Just as it seemed their only purpose was to lunge at him and make him cry out, it seemed his role was to strike them down.

* * *

Silent terror filled him at the confident, predatorial advance...the soft flesh baring teeth at him through sheer cloth. "A…special favor." Lipstick grinned at him and the closeness of warm bosom made him ache – he was afraid and somehow thirsty.

Not hours later, she lay limp in his arms, tensing in damp and death. Another predator had torn open this predator, and his mind dimmed with growing fear. "It's just a dream," he found his lips whispering helplessly to this slain jaguar. Cynthia's death was the first of those inconsistencies he suspected existed only to eat at him.

* * *

When he saw smoke pouring out of the door, he grew in dread. He watched the young man engulfed in flames. At the forefront of his mind was the complaint, 'What was it all for, then?' As Jasper cried out through the fire,"I finally met him…the devil!" Henry absently thought, 'I met him long before you did.'

He'd sensed it when meeting the boy. The child eyes reflected through heavy lashes the steady gaze of a broken spirit. 'I know that devil,' he wanted to say to the little boy. Jasper blustered in with his loud, swinging arms, shouting things that made little sense. Henry could only clutch his pipe in deep anger, knowing it was he who was being left in the dark, though the most was expected of him. Why? What part was he supposed to play? And for whom? He was finding out. The boy ran off.

* * *

The people who knew his name he could see only through the hole in his door and living room wall. They did not hear him.

He hurried through notes he found, scraps of paper he knew were stained red only to unnerve him. What was the next step? How could he go on?

And…

He shivered as a new pleasure flushed through him.

When would he find the next painful and frightening encounter?

He paused at this to savor the carnal delight. At some point, he'd begun enjoying this.

As he entered the gaping holes in his walls, he'd strain to look more closely at the pale figure amidst the darkness, the one that came and went, the one that seemed to beckon to him. And something in him wanted to obey.

* * *

This time he was in a place of water and running in circles. Killing the dogs had hardened him enough to strike the grey pudgy faces huddled under sackcloth. Infants. His fear and compassion became despair. Was this new madness or had this always been in him, only revealed now? He felt solid and steady, but he also sensed he was being worn down as with a file.

And there was the boy again. Such a child, so alive and seemingly whole. Standing straight in front of a crouched and whispering man. There he was again.

"That's Walter Sullivan," the man whispered to Henry. "He was really into that mumbo jumbo…" and as though overwhelmed by memories stood and began wandering away mumbling, "oh God…so scary, oh my God."

God. Where was He in all this? His name was whispered but not really believed.

Henry wondered at the mumbling. Walter. Sullivan.

Walter Sullivan. The name excited him with fear and curiosity. Henry found himself reflecting, 'Such an ordinary name. He looks like a helpless little boy, but there is clearly more to him. And these deaths.' Henry swallowed the flurry of fearful excitement. 'No boy can do that. This world is a nightmare. The answer is with Walter Sullivan, but when will it actually be over?'

He wanted to accuse someone. The one behind this story that demanded so much from him. 'Do you really want me to fall so badly? Do you want to devour my goodness? You add just enough sensual beauty with the awful. You are trying to destroy me.' With a sense of inward breaking and weeping, he realized, 'Yet I'm the worst, because I want it.'


	2. Trudging On

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Silent Hill 4: The Room or any of its characters. I am borrowing it.

* * *

When Henry found Andrew DeSalvo floating face-down in the water, something in him shifted.

'The man may have done horrible things, but he isn't the same as this Walter Sullivan.' He recalled the news reports a few years back. He wasn't sure how the murders were occurring now, but he was sure Walter Sullivan was still behind them. 'When you think about it, why is it so much easier to hate Mr. DeSalvo? What draws me to Walter Sullivan?'

The answer came quite quickly.

'Walter Sullivan is a predator. Andrew DeSalvo was an abuser.'

Henry flushed. He'd never been a predator. He'd been abused, sure, but wasn't that something everyone seemed to go through in some form? But being a predator…

He was torn. It seemed that as he looked at the nightmarish wake of death, he was discovering more evil in himself than in anyone else.

'I guess there's nothing to do but keep going…'

* * *

"…You'd better find a way out of here soon, too, if you know what's good for you."

Richard Braintree's words rang in Henry's mind. He found himself staring at the man's tie. It had a design of a Botticelli-esque woman, like Venus from _Primavera_. Hair flowing and tenderly feminine. But what was it she was holding? A snake? But he turned to go away.

"Wait." Henry felt afraid for this man, even though he seemed so confident.

The man turned back with a fierce gaze.

"…Watch out for that kid," said Henry. Richard waved him off, but Henry felt relieved that he had at least mentioned something that could be helpful. There was definitely more to that boy than just being a boy. Why was he in all these dangerous places, walking unscathed? Again he thought of the news reports and the notes he had found. Walter Sullivan was a dangerous murderer. He was most likely behind these murders as well.

Henry ruminated. Maybe Mr. Braintree was a bit softer than he appeared. He seemed to care about what was going on more than other people, though he was also an angry man.

It was a strange world. Dreamlike and dangerous, but there was also so much to sympathize with. It tore at Henry's heart. Again he became restless and ran forward, feeling a force chase him forward, like a dog snapping at his heels.

* * *

Henry walked out the door to find a man with grimy blond hair and wearing a large coat, sitting with his back to him on the stairway. As he approached, his mind went blank. He could finally see the man's face. He was dirty and had stubble, but his eyes made Henry swallow hard. They were like a doll's, lacking life. Gazing forward as though blind, and speaking as if into a vacuum, the man spoke softly and steadily, his voice having a quality that made Henry want to back off.

"I first met Miss Galvin when she was young. She looked so happy then, holding her mother's hand. She gave this to me. Here – I'll give it to you."

The man placed a small doll next to him on the steps. Henry debated taking it – debated running far and fast from this man – and chose to walk past, mustering up his courage as firmly as he could.

Something told him it was not time to get any closer to that man just yet.

* * *

When he entered Richard Braintree's apartment, the smell was what he noticed first. Something pungent and horrible, like burning. Then he looked through the thin smoke to see Richard tied to a chair, shaking uncontrollably and making sounds of agony. Henry ran forward to try to free him and quickly drew his hand back when he realized he could not even touch him. Richard was being electrocuted. It was to no avail, and he watched as Richard struggled to let out words through the torture.

"K-k-kid?! Th-th-that's n-no k-kid! I-it's th-the 1-1-1-2-1 m-man!"

It was then that Henry noticed the same young boy he'd seen often in the past. Walter Sullivan. He was turned away, towards the window. He watched in fear as young Walter raise his arm slowly to point out the window.

Helplessly, Henry watched on, his head swimming, realizing how dreamlike it all was – how nightmarish.

When he snapped back, Richard was dead. And the boy was gone.

* * *

Henry woke up in apartment 302 with heart hammering and throat dry. He could feel the sizzling as if he were Richard, could still choke from the smell of burning skin and hair lingering in his nostrils. His nerves were frayed, and he held his head in his hands as he tried to calm his breathing.

'A madman. A madman. Walter Sullivan is alive, and he is a madman. Why didn't I realize this before? He must be stopped. But how?'

Henry looked out the window to see a man in Richard Braintree's apartment, swaying slightly and pointing a finger out his window. Henry followed the line of the finger and his blood ran cold as he realized it was pointed to Eileen Galvin's apartment.

'What did she do to you? First Cynthia, now her? Why?' he whispered hoarsely, throwing off the covers. He ran to check on her – she had donned a dress, looking ready to go out. What did he have to do to warn her?

His mind ran back to the hole in his bathroom. Where his shower was now filled with blood. Where it all started.

Swallowing dryly, he walked down the hall, turned right, and entered his bathroom.

'Wake the fuck up, Henry. This is real. Richard is dead. Cynthia, Jasper, and Andrew are dead. You might be dead too, soon.'

He suddenly thought of that man on the staircase, sitting, his eyes vapid, his breath a stench, his hair grimy. Speaking so softly and as though he did not expect to be heard. Henry shivered and felt his throat seize up. He forced down bile. Even if he sensed there was more to the man than he knew, he didn't have time to think about it. If he waited, another person would be murdered when he could have done something.

'There might not be much I can do…but if I'm still alive, I have to try.'

As he entered the hole again and saw the pale figure in passing, he steeled himself against the man.

* * *

Henry wasn't sure how long he'd been running. He'd passed by countless ghosts, learning the unsavory stories of the apartment complex that had seemed so innocuous to him. He knew he could not return to the days of quietly passing by fellow residents in the apartment halls, little more on his mind than what to buy for the week's groceries.

At long last he found the doll key that granted him access to Eileen's apartment. He opened the door to see Eileen on her stomach, bleeding, speaking soft words to the young boy who was Walter Sullivan. Rage and grief boiled up in Henry, and he fell to his knees.

He woke in his apartment to the sound of an ambulance. 'Eileen.' He ran to the window. The ambulance was in the parking lot. Henry ran to the living room and scrambled to the hole in the wall. Was Eileen all right?

The hard talk of some police officers met him. They talked about her injuries and how closely they resembled the killings by Walter Sullivan. One policeman said something that made Henry's ears tingle.

"No signs were at the crime scenes. It was…almost like it had been done by a ghost or something."

A ghost. It made sense now. He collapsed against the wall. Now, it was time to go back – see if Eileen was all right. It sounded like she was in the hospital.

* * *

When Henry found Eileen, he was quieted by the pain of seeing her severe wounds. Her arm was in a cast, and she was cut up all over. When she saw him she began screaming. His grabbing her didn't help, and he regretted it. She finally calmed down and they began to talk. It was eerie. They hadn't talked much before, and here they were now.

They agreed to try to find a way out. And to stop Walter.


	3. Homecoming

**Disclaimer**: All of Silent Hill 4 and its characters are not mine but property of their creators. I just borrowed them for this.

* * *

As Henry ran around with Eileen, learning more and more about Walter's past, Henry started to learn the battle he was facing. As a young man, he had not had a sentimental childhood. He had much reason for bitterness at the world. Silent Hill attracted him for its peaceful scenery, but also for its eerie quiet. There was an underlying pain that he sensed, even if he wasn't aware of it, and he was attracted to the brokenness.

Henry understood that he was not different from Walter at all. The only difference was that Walter was hated from birth by his father, abandoned by his mother, and was taught cruelty and darkness by a cult from childhood. The man was as much a victim as predator.

The thought stung Henry. Who was he to be running around, involved in this matter? Yet, here he was, unable to choose out of it. And yet, everything he was running into was haunting him. Everything he discovered was a route he could have chosen in life. Yes, he did not experience the same things as Walter. Still, he understood the impersonal hatred for people and the deep, anguished, soul-tearing desire to be loved. He had grown up on it.

Even now, as he thought of Walter – he felt more pity than hate or anger. He felt more inner conflict than resolve. Why had he been chosen for this? He was not qualified to judge a man.

* * *

"Let's find Mother together."

Henry put the revolver to his head and pulled the trigger, just after seeing Walter's impassive face melt into ecstasy. The image satisfied Henry. For the longest time he had wanted to kill himself anyways. He lived the worthless life of a shut-in. His relatives had given up on contacting him. The few friends he'd had found him too difficult to be friends with. It seemed so easy to die. What did it matter…one more death? And Eileen…how was there any hope for her? A man like himself…did he really have what it took to protect her?

And. Henry wanted a Mother too.

And Henry wanted a friend.

Walter appeared to him like someone beautiful, clear-minded, and lovely. Henry wasn't different, after all. He was made of the same stuff.

"I love you, Henry. Thank you."

Henry heard the words from Walter, and dissolved into pleasure and self-satisfaction. Then, without warning, Walter drew a knife and plunged it into Henry's heart.

* * *

This time, when Henry woke up in bed, he didn't want to sit up. He understood now. The battle was not with physical monsters, as awful as they were. The fight was not with another man. The fight was inside himself, to believe that a life was worth something, or to give up. The thought pained him. He didn't believe even a little bit that he could win. Sure, he had made it this far, but how could he go on? He simply didn't have the strength left.

He thought of Eileen crying out with no one to help her, and he clenched his hair in his hands. What could he do, though? What could he really do? He felt powerless.

Henry had always been a quiet man. Not up to this kind of thing.

_Yes. That's right. Give up. It's hopeless. The world is dark and cruel, and you're not strong enough to fight it. It's better this way_.

Tears filled his eyes, but his heart had already sunk. He lay in bed, oblivious to the growing malaise in his apartment. He felt that he could make his entire being like stone, so that if a ghost should come, he wouldn't feel anything even if it attacked him. Then, he would die. It would be fine.

His eyes shot open and he sat up. Or, better yet, he would end it himself. He walked to the living room, went to his storage, and drew out a knife. He'd thought about it plenty of times. It seemed like a peaceful way to die. Trembling, his heart heavy, Henry lay the knife against his wrist.

Monsters. Pain. You're not loved. You're worthless. You're a piece of shit. You never do anything right. No one likes you. Give up. You shouldn't even try. You're stupid. You make mistakes all the time. You fuck up even the smallest things. Why are you even still alive? You can't even help anyone or do anything right. Just give up your fucking worthless life.

Spurred on by these images and words, feeling numbed, Henry made the motion to plunge the knife into his arm, as he had times before, only this time to really end it.

_Stop._

Against every desire, Henry held the knife back, making only a small indent in his skin. He realized he was breathing hard. But he heard a quiet voice in his head, and somehow, as deep in hopelessness he was, he felt he had to listen.

_You are not worthless._

_You are loved. You are cherished._

_You are stronger than you know. You can do it. Even if you fail, it will be all right. Death is not the final word. I will take care of you._

_Don't give up to worthlessness, anger, or hate. I will never let you go_.

Henry let out a long exhale. This voice again. Every time – it never let him go through with things. It always…held him back.

He stood up. Clutched the knife. Then set it down on the kitchen counter.

"I've got to get to Eileen."

* * *

"Henry!"

"Eileen – I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I was worried. Are you all right?"

"No, but I'm better now. I think we can do it. Walter's done so many things that make me want to lose hope, but somehow I haven't."

Eileen rubbed her arm.

"I know what you mean. I just feel so sorry for him. It makes me wish I could just die, and be part of this whole thing. Just sort of help him out, you know? But then I also feel like it wouldn't be right either, to just let him lie to himself and leave it at that. Especially since he's killing people. I don't think I'm such a great person, but I don't think dying will actually help."

Henry was surprised. Then, he looked at Eileen with a gleam of resolve in his eyes.

"Let's go, Eileen. We might not be able to do it, but we can try. It'll be worth it."

Eileen's face lit up, and she smiled a soft smile.

"Yeah. I'm with you, Henry."

* * *

"Just you wait, Little Walter. Soon, we'll be with Mother."

Walter looked down and smiled at Henry. The smile chilled him and warmed him at once. Eileen was possessed and walking toward a machine that would kill her, if Henry didn't do all he could to stop it. It was up to him now. He understood. This was what he'd needed. He'd lived as a shut-in, a life of no risks. Now, his entire life was on the line for the sake of someone else. He needed to do it.

Walter laughed and raised his gun slowly to Henry. Henry ran off and went to the great maternal monster that Walter had brought forth by cultic ritual. He went to the corpse of Walter and stuck in the umbilical cord he had found in Frank Sunderland's room. The cord Walter had so desperately wanted, the cord he'd hoped would join him to his mother once and for all. Safe from the world of hate that met him on every corner.

Henry ran to and fro, gathering spears to plunge into the monster. He dodged Walter's bullets, though they were slow. Every time he stuck in a spear, Walter fell down. Henry didn't understand how it all worked, but he kept going, sweating and heart racing.

"Receiver…"

Henry had finally stuck in all the spears. Would it work? He waited, but Walter only drew up his gun again to shoot him. Henry dashed off. Did he really have to kill Walter? Was this a choice he would have to make as well?

"Walter! Stop this!" Henry shouted.

Walter laughed, though it sounded hollow.

"If I stop, I'll never see Mother. And I can't have that."

Henry felt pain at those words, but he didn't know what to do. Eileen was possessed, and he did not believe he had the strength to kill the man-turned-ghost.

He tried to think fast. What could he do? The monster raged, and Walter's ghost kept shooting at him.

Henry looked at the demonic "thing" raging about, the ghosts, the great spiked machines.

He felt a shot on his back and fell.

Walter came up behind him, laughing the same empty laugh. Henry knew he was drawing up his gun.

'No - I still have to try.'

Henry got up, ran, and turned to shoot Walter's ghost.

All of a sudden, the mother let out a wail, and slumped forward in a crash.

Not long after, as Henry continued shooting, Walter fell as well. He died smiling, a hand extended to the light above them.

"Mom..."

* * *

Henry awoke groggily. He first noticed how hungry he was. Some eggs sounded nice. Then he threw off his blanket. What had happened?

Someone knocked on the door.

"Open up!"

Henry opened the door, and more officers with masks and shields and artillery than he could count rushed in. One pulled Henry aside.

"Sir, please come with me."

Henry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it slowly, not even knowing how to explain. But he heard the string of swear words as the police discovered the small room behind his bathroom, where he knew Walter's corpse hung on a makeshift cross.

"Take the guy in for questioning," said one officer. Henry was rushed off down the corridor, which was lined with SWAT backup, and carried off to a car. On the way, however, they were interrupted by loud shouting.

"Henry! Henry!"

Henry turned to see Eileen.

"Eileen!"

But the officers pulled him along.

"Henry! I know what happened! I'll talk to them for you!"

That was the last he heard before he entered the car with officers at both sides. He was driven to a high-security prison where he was put in a lone cell under constant surveillance. Though extremely confused, he was in some awe. No one had done much thorough investigation before Joseph Schreiber had – in fact, it was as though no one had cared. But now, it seemed the tide was changing.

Henry was tried, and as expected, he could not be charged guilty because there was no evidence. As much as some wanted a scapegoat to rest easy, there was not enough proof. Also, Eileen testified for him. People didn't know what to make of their talk about cultic activity.

Henry was tired. He hoped most of all that things would quiet down.

Henry went away confused. Before all this began, he lived quietly but everyday was painful. He took photographs and would take what work he could find, but he barely talked to anyone. He'd often drunk alone. Now, he was even talking to Eileen and Frank and his other neighbors. They all wanted to hear what happened.

One hard part was going to the funerals. Hearing all the stories were incredibly painful, but in the end Henry was glad he'd gone. He needed to know that these people were not just faces. Richard was not just a bad temper, Cynthia was not just a seductive woman, Andrew was not just an abusive man, and Jasper was not just on drugs. Seeing their families and friends reminded him of that.

Not many people went to Walter's funeral. Henry scrounged together money for it himself. Eileen showed up with her mother, and a few curious strangers showed up. It was a simple affair.

He was struck again at the immense loneliness of the man's life.

Somehow, though, he felt like he could believe that Walter had found the embracing arms he'd been looking for – arms that would never let him go.


	4. Interruption

Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill.

* * *

Henry felt like breathing a huge sigh of relief - if he could breathe. As it were, his lungs pierced by cracked ribs were flooding with blood making him incapable of breathing. No matter, because he could not feel much. He had been hit by a commercial truck while crossing the street, and most of his body was broken.

He was dying, and he was all right with that.

Life had been a painful charade after the murders. He knew that the experiences had left him crippled. He had lived in constant unease that more evil would follow him. He was glad for Eileen but found her company a painful reminder of events he wanted to forget. Nightmares had felt too real, and he'd often gone through torturous queries to himself of what was and was not reality.

So now, it was a relief to know that he could stop.

That dim morning as he lay surrounded by crying onlookers and panicked voices, Henry died.

"Hello, Henry."

Henry opened his eyes to see a smiling man.

"Who are you?"

It was a very quiet place.

"I'm Jesus. It's good to see you."

"I'm dead. Where are we?"

"Yes. Well, you're with me. I'd like to show you some people."

"Okay."

"Here," Jesus brought forward a small child. Walter Sullivan.

Henry took a deep breath, heart hammering.

"Why-?"

"He has something to say to you."

Little Walter looked up at Henry with tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Henry froze.

"Is this a dream? Shouldn't I be dead?"

"You are dead. You won't be for long. You needed to hear this from Walter."

"This child? That's not the Walter I knew. The Walter I saw was a man who beat and nearly killed Eileen."

Jesus was silent, then nodded.

"Yes, he has something to say to you as well."

"Henry."

Henry's blood froze as he turned around. There was Walter, but he looked different. His eyes were tender, clear, and focused.

"I put you through much pain." Walter smiled sadly. "I know how deeply I hurt you now. I'm sorry."

Henry was trembling.

"Why? Why can't I just die? Why this?"

Jesus looked at him.

"It's not over yet. There is still plenty of good ahead for you in life, Henry. But, you needed to hear Walter's apologies, because it was too hard for you."

Both Walters were gone, but Henry could still see them in his mind's eye: they'd looked so different.

He didn't want to leave.

"You don't understand. I stopped wanting to live years ago. Please. Don't make me go back."

Jesus held Henry. It felt natural, but Henry found himself collapsing in sobs.

"I promise you will be all right," said Jesus. "I'm always with you."

Henry cried more as Jesus held him.

In some moments, Jesus looked at him and smiled, caressing his face.

Not long after, Henry woke up.


End file.
